


le vin

by A Monstrous Love (fleurdelaire)



Series: Ces Fleurs Maladives [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Comics)
Genre: Eventual consanguinamory, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, also i've been reading an awful lot of baudelaire lately so..., angsty fluff with eventual smut, comics/series crossover - but mostly comic based, fyi in this glamour sex workers are a thing, the caos trailer is out and i watched moulin rouge for the 100th time, title taken from Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du mal, yeah yeah going to hell and all that jazz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdelaire/pseuds/A%20Monstrous%20Love
Summary: She walks, and walks, bathed in moonlight and shame.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman/Zelda Spellman, Zelda Spellman/Empusa
Series: Ces Fleurs Maladives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602412
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	le vin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalalyds2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/gifts).



> Happy late Secret Satan!! I am terribly sorry for not being able to post it sooner, had to visit some relatives during the holidays at the countryside where there was no internet connection :(  
> Hope you enjoy!!

_Paris, 1889_

The buzzing of the people on the streets on the Parisian nightfall sounded equally insipid and uncomfortable for Zelda Spellman. Like swarms of bees, they moved in groups – not large ones, these were most likely gangs of thugs and would, more often than not, only start to emerge from the shadows a bit later – carrying their excited noise with them – their foolish and reckless _joie de vivre_ practically emanating from their young, mortal bodies like the perfume of a flower on spring. It was a lonely and chilly November night, and as such the young witch found herself walking aimlessly through the crooked streets as the night started to rise, comfortably numb in her long dark winter coat as she passed through restaurants and shops she used to frequent for the past half century ever since she left the gentle breast of her family and childhood home.

On their own, her feet carried far, further than she had ever been on foot (she usually conjured a portal to where she was headed as it was both faster and way more discreet than walking) although she did not feel a thing – perhaps too engrossed on her thoughts (memories, really) to care to mind about the dull ache on her feet as she roamed the streets in a nostalgic haze. She walks, and walks, bathed in moonlight and _shame_ – the urge to run back to her house, not her real home in Greendale ( _could she ever return there_ , she bleakly wonders) but actually her crappy apartment downtown, was stronger than ever. _This is so wrong_ , a voice of reason tells her as shame burns the skin of her cheeks just as much (if not more) as the chilly breeze that comes from the direction she’s headed when she takes a sharp conscious turn to the left, gaze on the ground while passing by a mortal church as fast as she could manage, as if the dark thoughts and desires on her mind could be easily read by a look on her face.. . _Perhaps they were_.

 _If what she was about to do could be frowned upon by her own kind, imagine for mortals who were still trapped under the False God’s hypocrite sense of self righteousness?_ The hand inside her coat’s pocket tightened around the blonde lock of hair it had been holding, half to check again if it had remained in place (every part of a witch was important – hair, nails and especially tears – and if it fell upon the wrong hands, dreadful things could fall upon the owner) and half to comfort herself, as if she needed a reminder as to why she was choosing this, such low outlet for her treacherous transgressions, rather than living them on the flesh as her body and soul so desired. _It was best this way_.

An uttered glee coming from behind her made her jump ever so slightly and, disturbed by sudden noise, the redhead turned to glare at the small group of bohemians that seemed to be heading towards the same place she was going – that new theatre that was, in its own heartwood, nothing but _a house of ill-repute_ that offered not only a vast variety of drinks (exotic or not), a flashy cabaret show but also plenty of other _carnal pleasures_ for the _bon vivant_ mortals – the _Moulin Rouge_. Discreetly walking inside the place, Zelda took almost no time to locate her usual table _, which was free per her own request_ ; every two weekends of the month, she’d be there, sometimes just to enjoy the show – _oftentimes_ to get some sweet, wicked, release.

The flamboyant decoration and the crescendo of music that reached her ears disturbed her, _this was no place for a Spellman_ , yet she refused to leave _._ Edward had showed her this place, as soon as it had been reopened; claiming that _mingling with mortals perhaps was not such a bad thing_. She didn’t know what to do with that – Edward has always been an impetuous and _reckless_ boy, but perhaps this was going _too_ far; witches and mortals, _together?_ _Orthodox to a tee_ , Zelda despised mortals and their frolics with a fiery passion – but there was no way she would risk it all (her name, reputation and honour) by going to a witching place that offered the same job; _after all_ , there was hardly such thing as _confidentiality_ between _a glamour whore_ and _her clients_. Taking her customary seat, the young witch took her time to read the menu, as if she truly was there for the show, as if she was truly considering drinking half of the things that were served in this lurid place, as if she hadn’t come here for one reason and one reason only.

Her eyes skimmed through the names – there was ale, gin, whisky and others alike, yet surprisingly enough wine seemed the most desirable to her tonight, even though their green fairy (a drink that was by no means of mortal roots, she notes with a scowl) was fairly famous around the tables, no matter how cheap and prone to give her a thundering headache in the following morning it probably was. _Hilda loved wine, more so than gin_. It felt _fitting_ to order it. As more and more people rushed in, the lights started to flicker, the white light that illuminated the room slowly turning in an azure one as the background music got more prominent and turned into an exciting crescendo – the _show was about to start_. Big cream coloured feathers started to flutter behind the thick red curtains, that were under such a lighting that only the dancer’s silhouettes behind it were visible to the public.

As more people rushed in, the late lads she had crossed paths before, the dancers slowly started to reveal themselves as the curtains rose, plumes tracing dangerously slow certain places that would leave any hot blooded male (mortal or not) on the room eager and hypnotized – Zelda, forever a lover of the subtle pleasures, as such had no interest on the twisting feminine forms on the main stage and the turns of long limbs to the rhythm of the music that otherwise enthralled and enchanted her peers and fellow spectators did nothing for her. In the _hundred and something_ years of her life, there was only one person who could leave Zelda shaking and with her knees weak, but, _alas_ , she was not here nor would ever be; _Hildegard did not strike her as one with such flair for such dramatics_ , and, _besides_ , Zelda’s blood _boiled_ at the prospect of _anyone_ but her seeing her sweet sister like this. _Perhaps it was for the best that they should remain apart_ – they relationship would never be the same after that stupid coronation anyway.

As pieces of garments started to be stripped off taunt, slender, young bodies, Zelda takes a long drink of her wine as soon as it arrives, a decadent crimson liquid burning down her throat as she peered through her lashes, looking for _that_ special someone that was hidden amongst the working girls with the same purpose that a shark follows blood in the water. Trusting her own _disillusionment_ _charms_ to remain safely concealed from the crowd, the witch downed glasses after glasses – a solitaire under the dim light – bluntly refusing the insinuations and offers that were made by the working girls that passed by. No advances for mortals were anywhere close to the poisonous desires she came to feed, that roared like some starved lonely beast in her chest.

 _She never knew exactly what the woman would look like_ – this mortal, a vessel for the demoness Empusa, the fiery shape shifting succubus, seemed to have learnt _well_ how to adapt herself to her new demoniac abilities – but Zelda could _always_ tell who she was amongst the performers, there was a certain _glint_ in her eyes and a certain slyness on her smirking lips that _just_ told the world that she knew of their _darkest desires_ and _most hidden needs, as immoral as they came,_ and was _willing_ and _eager_ to fulfil _every single one of them_. She was very talented for a mortal courtesan, Zelda had to give her that, and as such, she was rather difficult to schedule an _appointment_ with. As the show progressed and there was no sign of her, more and more glasses of wine were taken as the witch’s hope started to falter and she almost considered calling the whole thing off and go stumbling back to her place to find solace with her own fingers and overactive imagination, when her eyes caught someone she knew.

 _Well, not really someone per se_ – _part of someone_ , a _body_ , to be more specific.

Slowly blinking away the lingering dizziness that the quasi drunk state had induced her, Zelda perks up on her seat to have a better look. There, on the left corner by the piano lit by a beam of reddish light, swinging her wide hips with the burlesque music as her hands were cupping her ample bosom in the most _tantalizing_ and _mouth watering_ fashion, stood _Hilda’s body_ , wearing a piece of garment that _left_ _little to imagination_ of the lucky bastards watching her – not that Zelda would need any of it, for that matter, she _knew_ her sister’s body like better than palm of her own hand, had worshipped every mark and freckle on her tanned skin with her mouth under the moonlight by the Thames riverbank, where the smooth water glided, not only fifty years ago.

 _Oh, yes, that was Hilda’s body, alright_ – and if the courtesan’s smirk upon seeing Zelda’s enraged frown was anything to go by, she had known how it would ruffle her feathers. There was no denying Zelda felt quite possessive of her little sister, even half a century later and oceans apart, it didn’t really take a genius to realise that, to Zelda, Hilda was hers alone and she did not like sharing. As the wench twirled around and played with the plumes on her hands, the long pearl necklace she wore tinkling as it fell down her neck flattering even more her provoking neckline, she blew a kiss towards Zelda’s overall direction, causing a ruckus of howlings and pleased whistles from the audience to erupt. Equally entranced as she was angered, all the Spellman could do was to watch as more layers of clothes started to be thrown towards the crowd, revealing more of the creamy skin than her Hilda would ever dare to in public.

There was something off, she realised upon close inspection (wine burning down her throat as she swallowed faster than she should have in a failed attempt to ease the bubbling anger burning her chest), the tone of the skin was _wrong_ , far too pale, and – other than the enticing curves, that lovely face she so adores and the constellation of freckles Hilda possessed – there was little that could be recognised as the younger Spellman sister at first glance. _Mercifully_ , the courtesan had had the decency of giving her new persona other traits: mischievous eyes as dark as night, quite a worlds apart from her sister’s sweet hazel ones, and a dark curly carrot-red hair that was neatly placed on tight curls of the latest burlesque fashion – tamed in a way that Hilda’s own would never be for it was a drastic contrast with her free spirited nature.

As the dancer moved to the edge of the stage, closer to the audience, the music started to die off and, as the light beams started to dim more, the succubus turned her back for the audience and leisurely removed her _Cadolle brassiere_ , only to turn around with wickedest of expressions and nothing but the plumes covering her chest as she threw the last garment towards her public that roared all sort of low and lascivious things at her. Throwing one last look at Zelda, the curtains fell and the demoness disappeared as there were preparations for the following acts and shows. Excited music started again, to entertain the patrons during the break, but she paid it no mind. Zelda’s hold on her wine glass tightened and in a split of a second the thing broke down in pieces, harming the tender skin of her palm. Cursing under her breath, the Spellman muttered a half assed healing spell, that would never pass under Hilda’s watch, that stopped the bleeding at once, before she rose from her seat, planning to head straight to the backstage to put an end on this nonsense.

_Empusa couldn’t go around using her little sister’s body for profit, much less for the eager eyes of these disgusting mortals, she wouldn’t allow it._

Perhaps Zelda had underestimated the potency of the local wine, and she certainly had far more than she should’ve, for as soon as she rose ( _easy there, Spellman, too fast_ ) the room seemed to spin around her for a moment before she collected herself and tossed the money on the table, making her way to the private dressing rooms to find the impostor. It was not all that hard to find as there was an agglomeration of men barking trying to enter to greet their muse and show her their affections nearby the entrance, making her way through the people with some difficulty, Zelda finally managed to get closer to the door. After a bit of magic to do the convincing of the man who guarded the entrance of the backstage from the crowd, she was able to make her way without further ado, unbothered by the frustrated sounds that she left behind.

As she walked through the corridor with purpose, passing by the other dressing rooms that had their doors closed, Zelda scowled, biting her lower lip absentmindedly as she entertained herself with the thoughts of how to punish this vessel’s erroneous behaviours – perhaps she should end this now, the demon could easily find another mortal body to inhabit, possibly of someone who wasn’t as _cunning_ or _daring_ as the current one. Her own thoughts are cut short when a door on her right with the name Adeline written in it unexpectedly opens before she could even think of knocking, an alluring form wrapped in a long golden robe (that, by the looks of it was the _only_ piece of clothing covering the succubus now) appearing by the doorway with a wicked smile in place.

“ _Ah – finally_ , I thought you weren’t coming... _love_.” the wench said, using the term of endearment that Hilda often had but other than that sounding nothing like her. Zelda had relinquished and dreamed of hearing Hilda’s low, breathy and impossibly British accent saying things that would make her toes curl for decades, but that had not happened. For as good as the mortal courtesan was, there were things she could not mimic – not even with a demon’s help. So, instead of her sister’s endearing voice, she was greeted by a slightly deeper and definitely Scottish one. “Come in, then, I haven’t got all night, you know?”

Clenching her jaw the Spellman walked in, the door being closed behind her as soon as she had made her presence in the room, with an arched eyebrow at the demoness. If she thought she was going to let her roam freely with her sister’s body, she was quite wrong. The succubus went on her own things, fishing for a lipstick on her boudoir dressing table and applying while she looked at herself on one of the full length mirrors of her dressing room, all but ignoring Zelda’s clearly bothered presence; lurking in the shadows much like some sort of spectre with malicious intents.

“We’ll have to be quick, this one-” she patted the bum of the body that wasn’t hers “-got me a handful of clients, I might keep her a little longer. So, _who_ will you be having tonight?” the woman asked after making a kissy face when she was done, tearing her dark eyes from ‘her’ lips and looking at Zelda through the mirror’s reflection, much of her wicked charm dissipating as she took in the witch’s features. There were times where their encounters were short, hard and bruising and full of delicious pain – these seemed the ones Empusa liked the best, feeding from Zelda’s ill covered masochism and blood – and there were also times where Zelda only asked her of the minimal things, a proper date, a weekend by the sea, or just cuddling while listening to the newest mortal song that Zelda pretended to detest and that Hilda, the real one, would most likely to love. It all depended on Zelda’s past weeks and the succubus’ inclinations, really. “Same as usual, _again_? _You know..._ I’m not picky, and I’d _never_ get in between my client’s requests, as kinky or vanilla as they come, _but_... maybe we could try something else for a change? Or at least _someone else_ , what do you think, _darlin_ -”

Zelda has got her hand on the imposer’s neck before the succubus has time to register it, swift and lean as a lioness on the long grass, stalking an easy prey – well, not so easy, even though she was currently being bound to this human vessel, Empusa was still a lady of Hell, the _crème de la crème_ of the depths of the Inferno, and thus not easily dispatched as a low sleep demon or as an impish spirit. If she wasn’t careful, the tables could easily turn and Zelda herself would be the one being roughly pinned against the cool surface of the mirror, a hand around her neck tightening ever so slightly like muscle spasms.

If it had been truly Hilda, Zelda would’ve sadly known what to expect (she has already killed her with her bare hands once or twice before, knew how much pressure it took to squeeze the life out of her like a lemon), would have know how to react and read the cues of her anguished body language. As such, Empusa was, clearly, a whole different creature than her little doe eyed, butter hearted, sister – instead of trying to get away from the grip, clawing her way out of Zelda’s choking hold in anguished haze, the demoness smirks, a low (most likely taunting and fake) moan escaping from her throat as she moved to press Hilda’s body against Zelda’s, causing the witch to visibly shudder despite it all. _It’s been so long..._

“ _Ooh, I see;_ kinky it is tonight, _heh?_ ” the creature taunts in a mockingly sweet laced voice, licking her crimson lips while taking in Zelda’s body without even attempting to hiding the gesture – what sends a warm shiver down her spine. Empusa captures swiftly Zelda’s lips for a deep, famished, kiss, and the witch half expects to feel the impossibly sweet lips that tasted of home and a hint of some exotic fruit or berry, but finds none of it. As fiery and enticing as the kiss was, it only ever left Zelda feeling empty and disgusted at herself; at her own weak will. _You see_ , unlike other kinds of demons, succubi and incubi both equally fed on the desires and perversions of their victims – and, in their own might, relinquished on them and gathered strength from them despite it all, driving the energy out of whoever was foolish enough to consort with them. For a mortal, it could be potentially lethal if not handled carefully; for a witch, it was incredibly risky and the thrill of it incredibly addictive. She had to be careful. “Shall I get us the cat o’ nine tails?”

Gritting her teeth, the witch sneers at the courtesan and pushes her away, disgusted at the wench and at her own body for betraying her, letting go of her throat but keeping a dangerously close distance between them, still very much on her personal space. Her breathing shallow and her heart thundering hard against her ribcage – and if she closes her eyes she can _almost_ picture Hilda, _her Hildie_ , wearing her hideous pink flowered apron on their teal coloured kitchen back in their parents’ house in Greendale, fumbling with the bubbling pots and pans and murmuring evenly at her: _“Your blood pressure, Zelds...”._

The thought of her sister makes a bitter taste rise to her mouth, bile or something alike, and Zelda feels as though she was about to be sick before the creature produces an awful cackle from her throat, something akin to a hollowed laugh but not quite. Another wave of shivers passes through Zelda. Only, this time, it was all parts unpleasant and it spread a sense of uneasiness all over her like wild fire. She takes a step back, and then another, glancing to the side with her chin up in a defiant and snob manner, even if slightly ill at ease.

“This nonsense must end; once for all. I will not allow you to use _this_ body for your own travesty, _demon_!” the Spellman hissed, attempting to find the last reminiscent of her usual bravado that had kept both Hilda and Edward on their toes through their childhoods, her voice dropping dangerously low. She was well aware that threatening a demon in their own lair was hardly the smartest of moves, but needs are musts – her family, thanks for Edward (always the altar golden boy) and his feats for the Church of Night under Father Crowley’s tutoring were drawing more attention to the Spellmans, making their family not only prominent in their own little community but also across the world – and she couldn’t afford to take any further risks. _Words, especially the ill intended ones, travelled fast._

She had been oddly lucky that the demon wasn’t wearing her sister’s entire likeness now for the whole Paris to see it, but that maybe wouldn’t be the case in the following week or the next month, for that matter. Of all people, the one whose pristine and annoyingly cherubic image ought not to be stained was Hilda’s. _She deserved better than this, and Zelda owed her that_ – it was, after all, her own fault. If she had followed her father’s advice and left before the feelings on her chest had grown roots deep into her heart, she just _might_ have not been in this situation; _she should have left Hilda sooner_ , but then again, life without her had been grim and hardly worth living. The only joy she found these past days was when she visited the Moulin Rouge, thrilled by the illusion of fulfilling her desires – as lecherous or as innocent as they came.

“Aww, jealous of your little sister are we?? Afraid that she’ll find out all the things you’ve been doing behind her back?? ”A sly smirk bloomed on the demoness’ lips, teeth that once Zelda only saw during smiles and laughs turned into some sort of snarl as the woman tilted her head, an amused look plastered on her face – like the cat that got the cream. The witch flinched, her body language always gave her away – Edward used to say she was an open book, as much as she tried to school her features to remain guarded and mysterious. “And pray tell, darling witch, why would I do that?”

Clenching her jaw, the witch darted a poisonous dark look at the creature – Zelda dreaded to do this, to use her own little brother as an extra card on her sleeve, but it was necessary. The lesser evil was best to be chosen now, and she doubted Empusa would have much choice. Mustering all the poker face she could – Zelda offered a contemplative smirk of her own, half wishing she was a teeny little bit as terrifying as the demon.

“ _Because_...if you don’t ,the Council shall hear what you and Edward have been doing behind the Church of Night’s back – _tut-tut_ , using His most unholy likeness to manipulate the sheep, Empusa? _How deliciously naughty and beyond wicked_ , all that scheming could be _almost_ enough to threaten His place on the throne – _if word gets out, anyone would almost cry _riot_._”

“You wouldn’t dare!” the succubus snarled, much like a cornered animal, eyes flickering from the black she was using back to her real ones – fiery and without pupils. Control starts to falter and the illusion begins to wane. “He is your brother, they’d go after him as well – you wouldn’t hurt your own kin!”

“ _Ah – wouldn’t I?”_ the redhead crosses her arms, dearly wishing for a cigarette as she takes a measured step closer to the faltering succubus, narrowing her eyes. “Are you willing to bet your sorry excuse of existence on that, _love_? However, I must say, I’m not so certain if our dearest Dark Lord has a _forgiving_ streak, what do you think, demon?”

There was a sharp hissing sound that the demoness emits at the mere mention of their Dark Lord, as if something had burnt her, and if Zelda can trust her own eyes she could’ve sworn that Empusa shrunk away faintly. _So_ _her suspicions were true then..._ All this time her little brother had been _fooling_ their coven, conjuring Empusa on the form of Satan himself in order to rise the ranks of the Church of Night faster. At the rate he was going, he’d be appointed for High Priest in less than a decade. There’s a loud pounding on the dressing room’s door, a disembodied rough voice of a man calls for Adeline’s name, urging her to hurry up. The pair, however did not break their shared stare – the first one to falter, would lose, she knew it.

 _Of course she would never allow anything come to harm her family_ – but that did not mean she condoned Edward’s actions, _quite contrary really... They were so going to have a little chit-chat after this is dealt with._ The man yelled again, hammering on the door in a way that made the wood creak ever so slightly. Empusa’s mask started to fade away, morphing back to her own form as she grunted a half assed “Coming!” and drifted her eyes from the witch, accepting her terms as her snake tail twirled and the flames of her hair crack in the silent room.

“ _Allllright-zzz_ , witch” the demon hissed, forked tongue twirling around the syllabus. Nodding before sliding towards the door with an indignant huff , Empusa started to twitch and morph into someone else entirely, visibly peeved. By keeping hers and Edward’s spurious tricks, Zelda was inwardly saving her life.“You’ve got yourself a deal – no one but yourself shall ever see me on that form. _Consider this a little gift_ , for old time’s sake – _now leave at once, before I change my mind._ ”

A winning smirk threatens to rise on Zelda’s crimson lips as she sees the shape of the demoness change – where once stood Hilda’s lovely form, and then Empusa’s own serpentine shapes, was a tall slender woman with a dark skin and eyes as green as emeralds; breathtaking and enticing, with just the right amount of mystery but, above all, nowhere near alike her little sister. Pressing her lips together, Zelda bows slightly – half in mockery and half in gratification.

“After you, my lady.” She said, opening the door.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a wip I've been working for some time, as it is the first time I ever write for the CAOS fandom I'm slightly nervous with the characters buuut...let's see where that takes us;btw, there will be one or two more chapters that will be posted when I get a proper wifi :P


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